Adios, Mr 47
by Shroom-Samurai
Summary: Agent 47, the world famous Assassin, finds himself the prey of the CIA and the FBI.
1. I'm no good a goodbyes

Final Waltz of Mr. 47

Chapter 1: I'm no good at good-byes.

My room was completely empty. The very cheap and down trotted Hotel, crawling with rats and other form of various beasts. I lingered on the top floor, the so-called New York suite, coincidentally located in New York. Depressingly, all wasn't well for me, the greatest Hit man in the history of assassination. I, Agent and clone number 47, found myself intertwined in the most complicated situation of my prestigious career. A solitary table stood bold in front of me. My dual Ballers were lingering on the surface, clips pulled out and bullets laying indolently beside them. One by one, I stuck a bullet inside of the clips. My glove-masked fingers inspecting each one of them, those baby-blue eyes cursed into my head assisting in the examination. When all was done, and all was well, the clips were full. Shoving them deep within the chasm of the hollow compartment within the handle of my weapon, I stood. The dual .45 ACP weapons would be holstered upon my side, and the sides of my very expensive suit would conceal them--for a time. For a very odd and strange reason, I was not scared. In no way did I find myself cowering at the though of CIA agents bursting into the room, or FBI agents storming through windows. Yet, you ask yourself, why am I not scared? In my line of work, in my field of deadly combat, fear gets a disease. In the beginning, it is latent, a sleeping monster. As you kill, more and more, this virus awakens. Fear is consumed, and it finds itself at the height of you, and suddenly poof! Gone. Well, there I went. A simplistic step toward the door and I was walking down the slummy hallway. A light and sinister whistle escaped my pale, dead-looking lips. And if you were lucky enough to spot those eyes I had, you'd come to terms with the fact that it would seem I hadn't slept in a thousand years. Time was against me. It always was. The clock was my worst adversary, constantly laughing in my face, taunting me with the moving it's hands. But, like my enemy, I was swift, fast and cunning. Hell, I was good.

The spine-chilling echo of my footsteps treading down the main flight of stairs would become a crescendo, those who could hear it might possibly wait for it to stop. Wait for the infernal noise of Agent 47 to cease. And in time, it would. In time I would open the two large doors leading out of the Hotel, outside in New York the scene was much different. Inside it had been a noir fairy-tale, hookers and whores, left and right. But out here I could look up to the sky, and see those stars. See them lingering and smiling down at this demon I have been created into. Beautiful. For the first time in my ravenous and sadistic life, I saw beauty. And all it was worth, this would indefinitely be the final time I saw such a magnificent scene. Just as quickly as beauty entered me, it left. Eyes fluttered open and close, and once again I was shot back down to the sickening reality. It was clear to me where Diana was, they gave me the directions. They called me, the blasted cell phone when on for at least 15 minutes before I dared to answer it. So, at the very second my thumb squeezed the TALK button, a malevolent voice could be heard. "You will meet us at the Wooshu diner at 4:00 AM, alone, or Diana is dead. Mr. 47, we are the Government, do not fuck us over." He ordered, without remorse or my side of this wicked tale. Thus, he hung up and then my final waltz began.

Diana was a good friend of mine. Though she was like me, cold, merciless and brutal, there was a sense of womanly beauty within her. Of course I had been created and conceived without the thought of love, but unlike the Terminator, I would never come to develop any of these feelings. That is exactly what made me so different. Compassion was absent in me. No matter the victim, no matter the age, sex, race, or even handicap, it ceased to matter. I derived from pain, from the very start of my existence, I was delivering hurt onto others. Including the doctors at the hell-hole I was developed in. Every moment I thought of my creation and my creator, it was another proverbial bullet penetrating me. Be that as it may, there was no stopping me from getting her back. Diana guided me through thick, and through thin. If the situation was drastic, she would give me even the smallest amount of advice. Even though, of course, she was going to deny all accounts of me. And the streets of China town, those were rather dirty. But it was all silent. Darkness loomed over, shadows preparing to vanquish in the coming sunrise in the East. Gently closing my eyes, I knew I was approaching the Restaurant. Balling up a tight fist of anger, I slammed it directly into the nearest wall. God, it was so obvious. Knowing the damned CIA, they would've already executed Diana. And this was simply a ploy. A trick to get me in their trap, a divine plan set together in order to bring down the Grim Reaper himself. Pathetic. Alas, I was sad to say goodbye to Diana. Although I simply muttered it to myself while strolling down the street.

And the sick, sad truth was...I'm no good a good-byes.


	2. Goodbye, 47

Chapter 2: Goodbye, 47

There was a miniature part of me that was sent free from a metaphoric prison. Saying my unheard good-bye to Diana made things all the more better. Now that the teary part was over, I could finally arrive at my destination. The Wooshu Diner. At 4:00 AM, it seemed innocent enough. Lights inside were flickering on and off, but that wasn't an obstacle, no. Instead I simply opened the front door, my ears listening for anything or anyone acting as a phantom inside. But lights went on. Handguns were instantaneously pointed in my direction. There were exactly five men, and Diana. She was behind held by a fifth man, hands bound, mouth gagged. "Freeze, Mr. 47." One of the men in a dark blue suit said, his combed back hair making him resemble a Grease reject. He held a Para Ordnance P14-45 pistol, pulling back on the hammer with his thumb. "Move an' die." He added, moving in closer to me. A sick smile spread across his face, like a Jack o' Lantern. "You came--just in time." Without warning, he nodded. The very same man holding Diana removed a large Desert Eagle from his back pocket or holster, I couldn't tell. Yet, that didn't matter. My eyes witnessed the morbid act of unjust murder. He placed the cold, dark and staring barrel at the back of her head. There wasn't even the tiniest moment of hesitation before he pulled back upon the trigger. A loud BANG screamed madly in my ears. Her face literally exploded. Innards spewed out, chunks sprayed all over the man's suit. Falling limp, Diana's massacred body leaned over, a substantial amount of blood and inner-gore dripping onto the floor below. Cringing in angered disgust, I desired madly to reach for my Ballers.

"Mother fucker, you screwed up. You piece a' shit." Another man said, he carried a Micro Uzi, and wore an inexpensive looking trench coat. "I'll fuckin' kill you, now! Right here!" He rose his gun, and I thought he was going to fire. Animal instincts told me what to do, commanded me, held me like a puppet. And like a puppet, I dropped. My hands reached downward and all at once, ripped my .45 ACP pistols from their prison. BANG! BANG! BANG! Gunshots rang out. Crawling beneath a table, I aimed my two precious pieces of hardware at their legs, yet they moved. This was excellent, for I crept from beneath my hiding space and stood. "GET THE FUCK IN HERE! CALL BACKUP!" A disembodied voice from the back shouted. It was then I knew, this was either the FBI or the CIA. Either way, they were my new quarry. Pulling back the hammers with my thumbs, I wasted absolutely no time in firing at those who were attempting to flee to the staircase. BANG! The man first spoke to me fell, his blood splattering violently on the side of the walls. Moving past his fallen corpse, I began to rapidly move up those shadowy stairs. Behind me, the restaurant was seemingly in ruin. White-cloth tables were tipped and shot through, dust slowly rising up from where the gunners had been. This surely was not the last of this menacing situation.

From the bottom of the stairs, I could hear the men's' frantic screaming, calling for backup. I knew that the backup would come up the stairs, not down. Progressing as fast a humanly limits would allow me, I literally sprinted up the stairs. At the very top of the stairs, a black door stared down at me. When it opened, the silhouette of man with the gun appeared within my orbs. Dropping once again to the ground, I felt the carpet-clad stairs pressing against my milky-white chin. BANG! One shot sent the enemy down, and he gurgled in agony, for he was choking on the blood. To my disappointment, I saw that it was not the man who murdered Diana, but just a grunt. But he lay on his back, spitting and coughing up blood, crying even. Smirking deviously, I fired one round, one shell, to end his misery. Three left. The roof seemed completely empty. Ventilation shafts, though, would indefinitely provide a temporary haven for my adversaries. BANG! As the slick-haired one leaped from behind a shaft, I fired. The round was lunged deep into his chest. BANG! And another round would finish the Grim Reaper's duty. Oh! What was this? Catching me completely off of guard, another one of the grunts from downstairs sent himself from behind a shaft, sending a projectile into my stomach. Slowly raising my pistol in agony, he sent another into my left shoulder, before he was picked off from existence--of course!

Now? Now I bled. Now I pursued the roof for Diana's killer; limping lightly and trying not to collapse all the while. Freezing for a moment, my eyes went from side to side. I kept telling myself he was gone, vanished, a complete specter. But no, it was I who was the specter. Placing myself behind a shaft, I waited, bided my time. And when the unmistakable sounds of your enemy's footsteps were heard, you moved, like I did. BANG! I was in slow-motion. An introverted round pierced the lower part of the man's neck, and he dropped to his knees, begging it seemed. Once again the unambiguous grin I had plastered on would come into view. Lightly pressing my pistol in-between his eyes, I spoke for the first time in this monstrous situation. "You can suffer," Announcing that, it seemed he thought I would allow him to live. "With, Diana." His hopes were instantly cancelled. Firing a cruel and merciless round into his face, every single piece and scrap of meat flew directly behind him, and the limp piece of meat fell sideways. Taking a moment to cope with my situation, I perfectly understood the circumstances. There would be more. And what good would it do? The wounds I received most likely pierced a vital organ of some sort, for I found myself weak and slowly descending to my knees, holing my abdomen and dropping the pistols. As the sun slowly peaked over the East, I got one last look at the stars. One, final stare up at what beauty was, before I closed my eyes and fell.


End file.
